Stolen Moments
by Dark Aegis
Summary: Life is a series of stolen moments. Noone understands this more than the man known as Jack Harkness. A Jack introspection piece, set prior, during and after Doctor Who Series 1 and 2 and Torchwood Series 1


**Title:** Stolen Moments  
**Authors:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Jack Harkness, Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose (and a wee bit of Martha)  
**Summary:** Life is a series of stolen moments. No-one understands this more than the man known as Jack Harkness.  
**Spoilers:** Torchwood Series 1, Doctor Who Series 1 and 2  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta WMR. This story arose from my "Stump the Author" meme and is dedicated to Aibhinn (who asked for Ten/Jack flirting) and WMR (who asked for a Jack/Nine conversation post-TDD). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**"Stolen Moments"  
By Gillian Taylor**

He remembers his name now.

He repeats it to himself at least once a day, hoping that it will remain untouched within his memories, though he knows that won't be the case. Training at the Academy culminates at the end with one final test.

No-one who leaves here remembers his name. He and his fellow students will become ghosts, serving nothing but the glorious cause of the Agency. Everywhere they travel, everywhere they go, they choose. New names, new identities, new personalities.

It's for a good cause, this namelessness. He's protecting people, saving them. His name is the easiest sacrifice of all, he thinks.

On graduation day, as he stands next to his peers, he forgets with the first waft of poison-tainted air.

Having no name is a blessing, he supposes.

But there are many times that he misses that simplest of identities.

"Hello, my name is-"

It changes every day.

* * *

Being a conman is easy, he thinks. He started conning himself the day that he became a Time Agent. Saving the universe, saving people; that was him looking at his life through rose-coloured glasses. The reality is anything but.

As with every government agency of this time, there are traitors and there are heroes. Sometimes he wonders where he falls. He tries to obey his orders without question, but he finds that it's impossible. When his orders call for seemingly innocent people – people he's sworn to protect – to die, he disobeys.

It starts small, at first. Tiny rebellions. A moment of looking the other way, giving his captives a chance to escape. A delayed communiqué, blamed on ill-kept equipment. A death, where the Agency required life.

Small things, really. Insignificant to the whole of the Time Agency. He thinks he's safe.

Then, when he wakes after losing two years of his life to the Agency's machines, he realises the truth.

From graduation day to now, he's only been conning himself.

* * *

He likes the way 'Jack Harkness' rolls off his tongue. It's a good name, a strong name. It suits him, he thinks. Taking the name of a hero, because he's anything but. He wonders if he should assume a secret identity in the vein of the serials that he's listened to on the radio. He's a vigilante now, out for revenge against the villainous Time Agency.

But who is he truly kidding? If this girl is the best the Agency has to offer, with her Union Jack shirt and non-contemporary clothing and watch, what's that say about him? About them? Bit hard to shape them as the all-inclusive enemy when this blonde-haired woman is falling for his charms so easily.

He grins at her as he holds her close, telling her the story that he's woven for just this purpose. There's hesitation in her eyes when she tells him about her 'partner' and he's surprised by the sudden pang of jealousy that fills him. She's the enemy, but he likes her.

Sometimes he wonders if the Agency didn't just steal his memories, but his common sense as well.

* * *

He leans against one of the coral-like struts that surround the console room of this amazing ship. A TARDIS. Bigger on the inside than without. He can spend a lifetime exploring this place, he thinks, but it's far more fascinating to study him.

The Doctor – what kind of name for a U-boat captain is that? – is fiddling with something on the console. A knob or a button, but he can't quite see beyond the rather stunning view of the Doctor's backside.

He thinks that the Doctor is aware of his presence, but since the other man doesn't break the silence, he decides to do so. "So, I get the barrage balloon and Rose Tyler. I even get the bigger on the inside than the outside thing. But what I don't get is you, Doctor."

"Me?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah, you," he replies, pushing himself away from the strut to stroll purposefully towards him. "Here you are, an alien with access to anything you've ever wanted in all of time and space."

The Doctor stills, his face etched in granite, and he wonders just what he's said wrong. "Not everything."

"But you don't take what's right in front of you. Hell, Doc, it's-"

"Don't call me 'Doc'," the Doctor snaps. "It's Doctor."

"All right, Doc-tor," he says, enunciating the two syllables. "Have it your way, but what I want to know is why you don't just take what Ro-"

"Don't finish that sentence," the Doctor says, warning lacing his tone.

"Fine." He holds up his hands. "I won't finish that sentence. But I will finish this one. You probably think she's too young, but I'm certainly not. I don't care how old you are or what you've seen. The offer still stands. I'll 'dance' with you whenever you like."

Something flickers across the Doctor's expression, too nebulous for him to define. "Buy me a drink, first," the Doctor challenges.

"That all it takes?" he asks as a grin stretches his lips.

"Try it and find out," the Doctor replies, though he gets the impression that he's being humoured. He knows where the Doctor's affections lie, and they're certainly not with him.

"I like challenges." With one last glance at the Doctor, he turns and walks towards the door that leads to the interior of the TARDIS.

Later, as he closes his eyes in preparation for sleep, he considers the events of the day. Before, he never would've played the hero. It's easier to be a coward, he's discovered. Far, far easier.

Maybe it's because of them. Rose. The Doctor.

Or maybe it's because of himself. Maybe he's tired of the con that his life's become. The only question is, if his life's a con, how can he change?

And does he really want to?

* * *

When did he become a hero?

Was it the second that Rose first said 'hello'? Was it when he lost his memories? Or is it now? This second, this instant. Taking a stand because no-one else can, because no-one else will. Delaying tactics, maybe. He'll die, probably, but he surprises himself by realising that it's worth it.

This is worth it. They are worth it.

He gives the two people who changed his life a long glance, wishing that he could do more than this. Wishing for more time. But, even though his friend is a Time Lord, that's one thing he lacks. Time.

He wishes he could give into the urge to lower her to the floor and kiss her as he's always wanted. He wishes he could give into the urge to lower him… Hell, he wants them both and there just isn't enough time.

So he kisses them for the first, and last, time. Pouring all his emotions into that singular gesture. He lets himself hope that, when this is over, he can do this properly. He knows what he wants and he thinks he knows what they want.

But time is factoring against them.

"See you in hell," he tells them and goes off to be a hero.

What he doesn't tell them is how he's changed. What they've done to change him. And what they have stolen from him, though it doesn't feel like theft. Not this.

He's entrusting them with his heart because he knows they'll keep it safe.

He never tells them the truth, but he thinks they know. And, he hopes, he holds theirs in return.

It's a hope he lives to regret.

* * *

He watches the TARDIS disappear, stealing a piece of his soul in the process. He thought they understood, thought they _cared_. But they didn't, did they? He's been deluding himself, conning himself just like before. Did they share a laugh as they dematerialised? Were they looking for a moment just like this to just dump him?

So this is what death is like. Oh, not the physical kind – though he does wonder just what stopped the Daleks from killing him. No, this is emotional death. And he's needed this for so many years. It doesn't matter now, does it?

Saving the world, saving the universe, saving people. In the end, he'll only be betrayed. First he forgets his name, then he forgets two years, and now he'll forget them. It's the only way he can survive, he thinks. Harden what's left of his heart and go on.

But what if they didn't mean to leave him? What if they thought he was dead and are on their way back now? What if he leaves and misses them? What if-?

He frowns and leans against one of the terminals, staring at the piles of dust that are scattered across the floor. That's what he is now, he thinks. Nothing but dust. He thought he was a hero.

But he's not, is he?

He's dust.

* * *

He's died twenty times today.

Each time he comes back, gasping for air, his eyes wide, to stare into the barrel of the same gun that killed him moments earlier. There's something sinister about Yvonne Hartman's smile, he thinks.

"One more time?" she asks.

He grimaces, but this is the only way, he supposes. "Yeah."

The last thing he sees before number twenty-one is the bullet heading for his skull.

* * *

He slips his arms into the grey coat, feeling as if he's donning some sort of armour. In a way, he is. Much as the Doctor hid himself behind black leather, he's hiding behind grey wool.

He leans against the railing of his branch of Torchwood – _his_; it is still hard to realise that all this belongs to him. Yvonne has her Torchwood One and he has this. Torchwood number three.

He's lost track of how many times he's died and come back. But, he supposes, that doesn't matter. Won't matter until he can find the Doctor again and get him to sort this mess that he's left him in.

In many ways, he feels as if he's living on borrowed time. Death holds no meaning for him and he doesn't know what that means. Why him? Why now?

All he has to do now is wait. Cardiff will attract him, he knows. The Doctor will be back.

He just has to be ready.

* * *

He's not sure how he feels as he stares at the piece of paper that declares her fate in black and white. He wants to cry, wants to scream and shout and demand that life (or the Doctor) bring her back, but he knows that it doesn't work like that.

One century ago and almost two hundred thousand years from now, they left him and were leaving him. Today, he's finally learned the fate of one Rose Tyler.

Missing, presumed dead.

He knows in that moment, that second, that he's forgiven them. What happened then doesn't matter any more. What matters is here. Now. And all the opportunities that he's lost.

He never got to kiss her the way he wanted to. He never got to tell her how he felt. He never…

He closes his eyes against the sting of tears, turning away from the windows that line his office. They can't know. No-one can know that their boss is breaking.

Or is he already broken?

When Suzie comes in with a batch of files a few minutes later, his eyes are dry and he offers her a smile.

* * *

This time, he thought he did it. He thought he managed to finally die. But he didn't, he hadn't, and he's still here.

Gwen smiles at him and for a moment he's reminded of what he's lost. There's an echo of friendship, of caring in that smile and despite the shield that he's wrapped around his heart, he finds himself responding to it with an echoing smile.

Not even the Devil can kill him, it seems.

There's something cathartic about seeing his team. Toshiko's spontaneous hug, so unlike the usually reserved woman. Ianto's disbelieving glance that turns into relief that turns into a kiss. And Owen. His betrayer, yes, but who is he to pass judgment? He's been betrayer and betrayed for longer than any of his team have been alive.

The hug that he gives the other man is as much forgiveness for Owen as it is atonement for him.

It's only later, after most of the team went for coffee and he sees the hand glow, that he realises that atonement is finally coming for him.

This is where his everything changes.

* * *

It's taken him a while to realise that his life has been full of stolen moments. He's been the thief as often as he's been the victim. But now everything's different. He presses his hand against one of the walls of the TARDIS, feeling the hum ripple through his skin and into his bones. He's missed this place as much as he's missed those who lived within her.

He turns and smiles, letting his gaze linger over the lankier – and, if possible, sexier – body of the Doctor. "Love the retro look, Doctor. What're they calling that these days? Geek chic?"

"This," the Doctor says, wrinkling his nose, "is the height of fashion."

"Where's that?" Martha asks with a wide grin. "A comic book convention?"

"Oi!"

"Though it does fit you rather well, Doc," he says as his gaze trails down the Doctor's body for a second pass. "But, you know, I seem to remember a certain promise you made in your last body."

"Oh?"

"If I bought you a drink-"

"Never did get around to that, did you?" the Doctor asks and, for a second, he thinks he sees regret shining in the Time Lord's eyes. There are plenty of things that he never got around to, he thinks. Shagging the Doctor and Rose are just two of them (or one, if he could have them both).

"-you would give me a dance." He finishes the sentence and looks at the Doctor expectantly. He knows what the other one would do. The previous Doctor would give him a quelling glance and change the subject. He wonders what this one will do.

"I've always been rather fond of the samba," the Doctor says thoughtfully and he thinks his jaw must've hit the floor in shock.

"What about the tango?" he asks, unable to stop himself.

Martha looks scandalized as the Doctor replies, "Horizontal or vertical?"

* * *

His chest feels heavy now, and it's not because of the weight of their hands entangled with his own. Immortality has come and gone and, in its wake, it's left him with this. A body that's been worn out too quickly from living life to its fullest, whenever and wherever possible.

Amongst his greatest gifts both given and received he counts this one as the best. Rose looks as lovely as she did when she was twenty, even though her hair is shot with grey and her eyes are full of tears. She shares a look with the Doctor as he reaches up to touch her cheek with a wrinkled hand.

"Better with three?" he asks.

She smiles and nods, the tears falling freely now.

And, with his last few breaths, he steals one last time from them both.

He steals a kiss.

**THE END**


End file.
